


He sat

by CCAirBorn



Series: The Last Of The Real Once [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Cats, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i just wanted to write about cats and this happened, maslow's hierarchy, three cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCAirBorn/pseuds/CCAirBorn
Summary: The Detroiter didn't seem human as he straddled the fine line between fulfilling his mission and fueling an addiction.There is a thing with addicts, most will do anything to get their dose, to make the pain go away.





	1. Two months

**Sitting _[sit-ing]_**  
1\. The act of a person or thing that sits.  
2\. A period of remaining seated, as in posing for a portrait or reading a book.  
3\. The space on or in which one sits, for instance in their home.

Nine never needed to sit, the urge never occurred to him until his Detective became annoyed - even uncomfortable by the looming presence over his shoulder. Nowadays The Deviant can't get enough of it. Couches, chairs, stools, bean bags, pillow piles, beds. It fascinated him. All the positions one could throw once libs only to get “comfortable” was confusing, yet overwhelmingly intriguing. 

The best spot to sit would be on Detective Gavin Reed’s living room couch, preferably on the left half. The seat is merely a few feet from the closest television and the open room kitchen. From there The Interrogator has the best view of the whole apartment, even being able to peek into the bathroom or Reed’s bedroom when all doors are open, down the hall. Being the closest seat to the kitchen, Nine could easily stand up and feed the pets whenever they complained the cutest. The Detective himself always managed to be the loudest complainer whenever he craved a beer yet too lazy to retrieve it himself. 

The Man had three felines all with different characteristics and personalities, roaming the apartment in their little way. _Yoghurt_ is the noisiest of them, always screaming for food or chirping for attention - there is no in between. Her hobby is to look for trouble and daydream about being five times larger than her actual size. To annoy her siblings or the people feeding her seemed to be on her daily to-do list. Yoghurt was in no doubt a spitting image of her owner. “Louder than a Lion” Reed always chimes in while patching up the chew marks in his socks. 

_Sun_ is a curious one and a daredevil at heart. He is the most willing to greet strangers or explore new areas to mark with his ever shedding, thick coat. Beautifully white, black and grey. No piece of clothing was ever safe. No laundry - clean or dirty - went without being rolled in. All faces or necks must be sat on as a welcoming gift, as Nine has experienced ever since he started hanging around the apartment more and more. Gavin seems to be satisfied with the fact that Sun enjoys lying on The Android’s face during the night, rather than his own. Although The Detective misses suffocating in fur every morning before waking up. 

And then there is _McKitty_ … Nine must have fallen in love with her. McKitty is an 8 pound, soot-black American Short tail. All three kittens have some battle scars but McKitten was missing half her tail and an eye. As incredibly shy as she was, it never stopped her to stroke against Gavin’s leg in front of others or even receive pets in front of her siblings. She still had problems being shown affection in front of strangers but The Android is slowly warming up to her. He would spot McKitty peeking at him during the night or discreetly smell the clothes he was wearing only to find nothing. No odour to scare her away. 

It’s wonderful to have the tiniest fry crawl from the bottom of hell only to sleep in your hoodie. It does something with your biocomponents when the same fry goes from unable to be in the same room as you to one day carefully place their paw on your lap. She made biscuits with Nine’s thigh and he could feel his cooling system stop functioning for a fraction of a second. 

Nine liked sitting, he was getting good at it. 

“Are you feeding them? You better be feeding my babies or I’ll break your arm.” Gavin threatened with a mean shaking finger. His IV rustled and clinked against the frame of the bed. 

“I am feeding them. I've discovered an easier method to stop Yogurt from stealing the others food and McKitty decided to accompany me on the couch the other day.”

“Did she pap you?” 

“She pap-ed me real good.” Nine glanced over at the morphine dripping into The Detective’s veins to assure he wouldn't rip it off while giggling and clapping like a drunk teen. He probably received something else earlier as well.

Remembering back to their failed chase scene two days prior has The Machine clenching his fist. If only he was faster, more...superhuman he would have stopped the incoming bullet. And if the bullet had missed its intended target, The Detective wouldn't have toppled down all those stairs. Nine is still unable to figure out where he miscalculated.

If only he had stayed to help The Detective, rather than ran when The Man yelled “GO AFTER HIM” over and over. 

“If McKitty paps you one more time it means you're accepted, and boy there's no way you're able to leave from your seat. Luckily-- yooouuuu don't need toilet breaks, so youuuuuu never have to get up! Perfect. Case closed, you're her bed. Yoghurt gets your face, McKitty gets your stomach and Sun stays with me and I never have to buy them a new bed.”

“Sun is sleeping on your side again by the way.” 

“That fucker. I’m already up to my neck with his bullshit, now I’ll be up to my neck with his fur!.”

Gavin has a deep and gut-warming chuckle. The chuckle used to bother Nine - the way it was, the length it lasted and the way it shook something deep inside his biocomponents until he grew accustomed to it. A chuckle like no other and The Android has started to miss having it around. Five minutes used to feel like nothing in the morning - but alone in such a spacious apartment at night - five minutes feels like an eternity. Nine is lucky he can enter sleep mode during his downtime or he wouldn't know what he would do. 

“I’m sorry.” The Investigator said. “I’m really sorr--”

“Did you file the stuff? Do all the, uuh, paperwork and shit?”

“Yes, all documents have been filled out with updated reports and sent in for review in court. All evidence as well and the aggressor has been sent off. Captain Fowler gave me a Thumbs up as I officially closed the case with Officer Wilson.”

“Then you can fuck right off. Case closed and bottoms up. It's a job well done.”

“Your life was in danger--”

“I got shot and broke a rib, bu-hu, if I can't kick that shithead in the face I can be satisfied with throwing him behind bars for good. Disgusting TrashSucker doesn't deserve to even breath. **We. Got. Him.** Capiche?!” 

“Understood...”

Clearing his mission has always been on The Detective’s agenda. Something Nine really admired from the beginning but grew to dislike as time passed and his programming became more...human. Sometimes The Detroiter didn't seem human as he straddled the fine line between fulfilling his mission and fueling an addiction. There is a thing with addicts, most will do anything to get their dose, to make the pain go away. 

Glancing over at the empty desk at the foot of the hospital bed does not please The Android. Even though it only had been two days of The Detective’s absence, upon his release there was no greeting or chat at the station several days later. Even Officer Person received bundles of small gifts on his desk when his wife had gone into labour. But Gavin’s was as clean and empty as always. 

“Two months.” Captain Fowler said and dropped his ball-point pen back into its cup. A two-page document was pressed into a neat envelope with the police station’s logo on the front. 

“TWO MONTHS!” Gavin shouted, slamming the bottom of his fist onto the desk. “What the fuck am I suppose to do for two months! It was just one bullet, I’m still good to go!”

“Let me read the doctors words, once more so you understand. One bullet-- in your shoulder, two fractured ribs, and a fucking messed up knee. Do you think you can run with that? Huh? Because I know if I leave you hanging around the office you won’t keep your ADD ass still. You’ll soak up every leftover case and get yourself killed while handicapped!”

“False accusation!”

“Oh is it now?! What about that one case from Anderson?! Huh?! What about that?!” 

“It was in ‘30! Jesus, are you a fucking Android too? Do you remember every little detail back to when your mom pressed you out?!” Gavin shouted so loud his side gave in and he coughs, stress level already up to 74%. “Fuck you.”

“Reed, listen. You have done enough. I would like to keep you in optimal health for as long as possible and if it means letting you go for two months--”

“--One month--”

 ** _“--Two--”_** The Captain was often angry, but he rarely got to the point of threatening where a three-letter word would send chills down the spine. Fowler slides the envelope across the table and softens his bulldog-like brows. “--months. I don’t haggle, now take it or you can forget the promotion.”

Defeated, Gavin grips his cane, squeaking the aluminium against his palm. He grabs the envelope and angrily shoves it in his pocket. 

“The fuck am I supposed to do for two months.”

“Rest--”

“--Oh, why don't you just shoot me here and now--”

“--Am I done talking? No? Then shut the fuck up and open your god damn ears. Rest, get a hobby, get a girl or guy- I don’t care, and you keep out of trouble. Is that understood?”

“...Fuck you.”

“Is that understood, Detective Gavin Reed?” 

Gavin kicks his chair back as he rose from his seat, the furniture almost flying back a few feet before The Investigator catches it from tipping over. 

“Understood, Captain.”


	2. Chapter 2

A month into this endeavor Nine received a letter in the mail. Ink-pen on DOUBLE A ® “EVERYDAY” manufactured A4 paper. During his downtime, Gavin had done a lot of cleaning, redecorating, and paperwork. Nine “RK900” #313 248 317 - 87 had officially found residents with Reed. The Workaholic had suggested changing Nine’s last name while they were at it. Although having a shorter and more memorable surname for personal paperwork would be a quality of life change; Nine had to decline. There was something about his serial number which felt personal, no matter how tedious it was to type out everytime they filed a report. 

Thus their mailbox read:

“Apartment 505  
Gavin Reed  
Nines RK900 lllllllll - 87 “

With his serial number being scannable. 

The vanilla-colored letter was from Gavin Reed himself, sent from “back in the old lands” of Maine where he initially grew up. His mother had moved from Detroit to Maine in her youth to marry so it only felt right for her son to move back to her roots after his graduation. 

The Detective slept for two days and decided that was enough rest for a lifetime. He followed up by three weeks of mad work on personal projects. And when there was nothing left to do, The Detective decided to go back home for a visit - clean old wounds, tighten slacked bonds, get updated with the latest news in his old town. 

Reed had been showing off and updating his Partner all about the trip, sending texts and snaps every day as if their chat was a personal journal or diary. So to suddenly received a letter on his return day came as a surprise to The Android.

  
“Dear, Toaster… 

~~I hope youre doing well~~ of course youre doing well, wth, I hope my babies are doing good cause Im  bored out of my ~~faki~~ fucking mind.

Ma’ didnt want me helping around the ~~houg~~ house although my good arm is completely fine. She and I did a lot of shopping and we went for a 4 mile stroll (shes almost 70 years old wtf) denying my daily jog and everything. Straight up REFUSING to let me work out.

The town is smaller than I remember and the playground ~~me and~~ my brother and I used to play on is still intact. Even old Noel’s diner is still running, what a crazy woman. A lot of memories in this shit hole, they werent all bad. I wish you could see this place, think Ma’ would like you. Shes more progressive with the whole Android thing than I was. ~~Fuck, take more after that other son of a bitch than i th~~

Shes going to try and feed you pies and shit, still or show you my crappy attic room. Old pimped up space, can barely stand in that shoebox now though.

Anyways, poggers in the chat  
Im bringing a friend with me home. Catch me later  


Greetings from the East Coast  
Gavin - MotherFucking - Reed  


  


A friend? A friend from the east coast? Quit the curious turn of event. A mystery solved by waiting patiently at the airport after work.

Nine changed out of his Android field uniform and headed down to the metro only to wait at the exit of the airport Gate. He had even made a small sign out of cardboard with a glued-on piece of paper. 

“Welcome Home” it said in CYBERLIFE san serif. Having a plain sign would be boring, therefore the edges of the sign were decorated with doodled cat paws and cartoon stars. Nine felt pride in his new craftsmanship and held it gently in front of his chest. 

6:45 PM  
Mid August  
2040

Out of the gate strolled an angry wrinkled sock with a pink scar across his face. A face which looked much healthier and tanner than when it first left the state. An airport-assisting-android pushed Gavin’s trolley out of the gate while he dragged his cane around. He seemed displeased with the canes existence as ever. 

The Detective spotted his ride and waves to get Nine’s attention, however, his eyes were already fixed towards the luggage on the trolley. Nine counted two suitcases plus an animals transport carrier barely poking out under a colorful blanket. 

_Gavin brought an animal?_

The Detective laughed at his hand-made welcoming sign and snatched it to have a closer look. After thanking the Assistant for the service, The Investigator scanned the area cautiously, confirming that no one was following them. 

_Gavin didn’t bring his friend?_

“Spotted something you like, Nine-ser?” The Detective tilted his head with the cage in hand, about to board their Detroit Taxi. 

“What is that?” 

“Our new family member, duh. I told you already.”

Lifting the blanked reviled a puffed up, forest like feline. Its eyes grey and faded where it lied tired in a towel. Nine stared it in the eyes and calmly blinked to mimic a cat-greeting, and with patience, he received one in return.

“You’re keeping another one?”

“Hell yeah I am. Who on earth can say no to these monsters? No one is the answer. This guy is kinda old too and won't stay with us for _as_ long. But you know, I kinda dig him.”

“What do we call him?”

“Updog.”

\---

Introducing the new cat to the rest of the household went fast and smoothly. Gavin had become a professional at the act, managing to have them accept The Old Man in merely two and a half day. 

The cats really liked the towel Updog had lied in, the scent somewhat pleasant to them. All of them had fully accepted Updog the moment they were discovered piled up into one big cluster on the living room carpet. The Old Forest Boy’s aching bones was being cuddled and purred away slowly. Everyone slept on the carpet beside the shy little McKitten who would rather heal her broken bones in her dad’s lap. She loves sitting in front of the TV with Papa and refused to leave his side that entire weekend. 

Nine smiled at the temporary, and oh-so-slightly crooked effort above their couch. The Android’s “Welcome Home” sign in CYBERLIFE san serif font with doodled cat paws and cartoon stars was hung half-assed on the wall with office tape. Four layers - three for holding up and one for good measure until The Detective decides to buy a proper frame. 

“Thanks, K9.” Gavin said and accepted the beer handed to him, eyes glued to the bright TV. Never did Nine understand the appeal with E-Sport, or sport in general. But the young adults clicking away on their mouses and keyboards seemed to entertain The Detective enough. He plopped down in the vacant seat and quickly read all the signs in the crowd… The one he had made was better, however. 

“Let's go! WOOH! U-S-A!!”

“Detective--”

“--We’re at home, Shithead.”

“Right... Gavin, I’ve collected some data during the time we have spent together and I've come up with a theory.”

“Ok? Shoot.”

“Are you familiar with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs?” Nine asked, fidgeting with the seem of his jeans-- Gavin’s oversized jeans. _His_ perfect fit.

“Sounds German, can’t say I am.”

“It is simply a Theory of human need for a healthy psychological development. Maslow’s Hierarchy can easily be described as a pyramid where basic needs like consumption and sex is at the bottom, followed by physical and mental safety, love and belongings, esteem, and self-actualization at the top.”

“I'm listening?”

“My theory is you have every area covered, however, your love and belongings section is crumbling which leads to your two higher sections to follow suit. This is what can be described as an addicts mind.”

“Fuck you.”

“I wouldn't like to point fingers, but Reed. Please consider your situation and tell me you couldn't have been in a better spot. Your reckless behavior and attitude...concerns me. Addiction can be fixed, your increasingly severe workplace injuries might not always be. Your track record backs up my claim.”

“Fixed?” The Detective chugs his beverage hard, gulping so his Adam's apple bobbles desperately up and down. Slamming the bottle onto the coffee table resets Nine’s attention to their conversation instead of the heated flush from the alcohol creeping up The Detective’s neck. His third beer tonight with a warning about slower recovery if he continues.

“You think I'm broken?”

“No.” Nine swiftly slides the bottle further across the table, out of reach in case fists starts swinging. “I think you could be happier and more efficient in your field with longer-lasting relationships.”

“Longer lasting relationships my ass. I can get who I want, when I want and no fucko is going to change shit.”

“Yet, you haven't gotten any phone calls since your hospitalisation. No knock on the door for a home visit or even any “get well” cards. At work, only Connor showed any type of concern of your absence.”

Nine had filed their interaction in a special place when RK800 - Connor had gently nudged him in the arm, asking where the loudmouth Detective had gone off to. Explaining the situation and mentioning Nine’s theory didn’t concern The Older Model at all.

“Sounds similar to something I’ve experienced.” RK800 had said. 

Gavin chuckles and crosses his arms. Sinking down into the couch affected the cat in his lap in no way as she lies more comfortable than a king. McKitty made small adjustments in her seating and pawed at The Detective’s lap before returning to her purring. 

“The office is filled with monkeys who only know how to file complains. If I didn't need sleep I would have ran the whole presinct myself.”

“Is that so?”

“Hell yeah, we should ping the suggestion and send it by raven to Fowler right now. Firing all of those losers would bring joy to my heart and I would be _fixed_. Isn’t that what you want?”

“What about Officer Chen and Officer Miller? Would their removal be as satisfying?” 

Gavin fell silent and averted eye contact, exactly as Connor had predicted.

"I would be patient so he could get accustomed to me. Give him something personal and wait for the right moment to take action.” Connor had told on an earlier occasion, quietly transferring the experience between their arms.

“Like penguins with rocks or scented towels with cats?”

“Um… yeah. Exactly like that.”

“How did you know when the right moment was?” 

“I didn’t. I simply asked and went slow, giving plenty of room for him to decline. You couldn't really see it but my hand was shaking as I reached out to him.” The Older Negotiator had recreated the memory with his free hand. Collecting his fingers to softly cup The Investigators face. A gentle thumb stroking shyly across the cheekbone, afraid to disturb something fragile. 

“The Lieutenant was showing signs of a **M3 - 54D.** It felt wrong to use scripted protocol to help him.”

“M3 - 54D: firsthand experience of personal trauma and heavy depression.” 

Nine looked down at his palm. It was pale and picture perfect, slightly larger than Gavin’s own. He had only managed to measure and compare their hands once in a handshake during their first proper greeting without underlying android hatred. The previous RK model might have managed to ease into his partner’s personal space in the matter of a few days, for RK900 it was a bit more difficult. 

“What did you say to him?”

“I’m here.” Connor had said as his newest model took in the information, LED blinking blue. “And I’ll stay as long as you need me.” 

…

“May I touch you, Gavin.” 

The Detective turned his head so fast McKitty jolted in her seat and rubbed herself further into her Papa’s shirt. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re not broken, Detective, and don’t need to be fixed in any way. I didn't mean to bring up uncomfortable matter. However, you’re worrying me.” 

Nine copied the action his coworker had demonstrated, collecting his fingers to softly cup The Detective’s face. A gentle thumb stroking shyly across the cheekbone, afraid to disturb something fragile. Confused, Reed pulled away but the hand was never dismissed as it stroked warmth into his broken skin. 

“What if I exit sleep mode one day and you’re not here? What if one day we both check into work but only I check out? What if one day you can’t finish your missions anymore and do something even more reckless to replace it? Gavin, I need to know you’re safe.”

Team USA did not win as the colors of South Korea was flashing on the television. Muffled cheers in the background, whistles going off and the commentator box going crazy about an amazing play that had taken place. 

Gavin chuckled and burst into laughter, his entire frame shaking as McKitty’s had enough. She finally aborted ship and jumped down into the dimly lit apartment. Drips of tears had to be wiped from the corner’s of The Detective’s eyes before he could teasingly shove The Cybernetic Hand away. 

“You sound like a romance novel. Did you think of all that while I was gone? Did the little puppy get lonely?” 

“I don’t get lonely, though the thought of your absence is less than desirable and working with temporary partners on cases can be rather troublesome. All in all, sticking to a routine shows probability to be the most optimal workflow and produce cases--”

“Why don't you make a whole wish-list and send to Santa while you're at it?” The Detective chuckled and squeezed his partner’s hand. At some point, their hands had slid into holding each other and Nine couldn't help but match the surface temperature. 18 degree Celsius (64.4 F) and increasing. He could feel the rough skin on the padding at the base of his fingers from handling firearms and paperwork. They oddly simulated cat’s toe beans. 

Nine stroked a gentle thumb shyly across them, afraid to disturb something fragile.

“Santa doesn’t exist, but if I could, I would wish for more time.”

“More time to an already immortal body?”

“Yeah, more time for you to let your feelings out, more time for me to understand and analyze.”

The television flashed the interview of the stage winners and jumping straight into a commercial break. The Detective vocally turned the thing off before they could be bombarded with ads and infomercials. 

“What are we, Detective? This... string of… wanting and complicated objectives weren't initially part of my programming. As many times as I calculate the situation something just doesn't add up.” 

“Fuck if I know, what do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know.” K9 frowned and leaned his head closer, magically The Detective copied the action to touch foreheads in the dimly lit apartment.

“I want to love you. I want you to be loved and safe and I want you to be happy.”

The Detective said nothing but the puls felt through his hand increased, throbbing twice as fast as the faint night club down the street. 

“Sure...whatever.”


End file.
